


Parchment

by My_Agony



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-05-16 05:16:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14805072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Agony/pseuds/My_Agony
Summary: Margaery.It’s been a long time since she has heard or thought about the girl.





	Parchment

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly don't know what this is, I just started writing and this came out, so...  
> I'm also sorry for possible mistakes or anything

“News,” Littlefinger says, turning the piece of parchment in his hand. “from Kingslanding.”

It’s strange, she doesn’t know anyone in Kingslanding who’d have something to say to her. Everyone she once trusted is either gone, death or betrayed her. Sansa turns away from the window and looks at lord Baelish, “who from?”

He smirks, his famous smirk, the one you don’t see on an honest, good man’s face. “No one you’d know.”

Even stranger, why would someone who she doesn’t know have news, from Kingslanding, concerning her. She frowns and nods for him to go on.

“The sept,” he whispers. “burned down, with all it’s Sparrows still inside.” Sansa shrugs, she doesn’t care for the sept or the high sparrow, the only gods she believes in are the old gods.

“But,” Littlefinger adds, “guess who else was there?”

Cersei, she wants to say, but she knows that lionesses don’t go that easily. Or maybe the hound, he would deserve it too, but she supposes a lot of people do. “I don’t know,” she says, not in the mood for one of Littlefinger’s games.

“Ser loras Tyrell,” he pauses, and by the look on his face she knows she’s not going to like what he’s about to say. “and queen Margaery.”

Margaery.

It’s been a long time since she has heard or thought about the girl.

Once she believed the girl was different, believed that her presence changed everything, and when she had betrayed and used her like everybody else, it had stung more than she had dared to confess.

Sansa wishes that, when she thinks about Margaery, she could think about the pain and the betrayal she had caused, but all she remembers are red roses and sweet words. She wishes this news wouldn’t make her feel as she does now, and she wishes Margaery wasn’t what she was now, a corpse, lifeless and cold.

“A shame,” she says. “Margaery played the game of thrones well.”

Lord Baelish arches his eyebrows. “To survive the game of thrones, being good is not enough, you must be the best.” He says it like she’s still the stupid, naïve girl she was when she still had a father and three brothers, and Sansa doesn’t like remembering her past self.

“I want to be alone,” she declares and watches as Littlefinger bows and leaves.

She sighs, and remembers brown curls and bright eyes, remebers lips against her cheeks and flowers in her hair. Sometimes, at times like this, when she thinks about the past too much, she feels like her head might explode.

She walks to the wardrobe, takes the flask of wine she hid in there and takes three big gulps. Sometimes, when wine is the only thing that makes her headaches go away, she fears she’s becoming like Cersei Lannister, rotting away in her castle, thinking about people she’d like to kill and sipping wine.

When the alcohol in her mouth starts to taste too much like blood, she puts down the flask. Her gaze falls on the wooden box on the lowest shelf of the wooden closet, her mind wanders to it’s content.

She pulls it out from under all the silk and wool, and fiddles with the key in it’s lock. The rose inside was once red, now a brownish grey. Sansa doesn’t know why she kept it, but for now, she’s glad she still has something remembering her of Margaery.

When she looks at the rose, she can almost forget everything that happened after that beautiful morning, can almost be that naïve, foolish girl again, and for once, she wouldn’t mind being foolish, not if it made her feel again.

And it’s been a long time since she truly felt something, besides Winterfell’s cold.


End file.
